


Whatever You Need

by PetraTodd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Het, Locker Room Sex, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/pseuds/PetraTodd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arrangement was born when Molly demanded a kiss in exchange for the body part Sherlock needed, and it escalated quickly from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever You Need

* * *

Molly hopped out of the cramped shower tucked in the corner of the Barts staff locker room. The small room was steamy, and she luxuriated in the warmth of it for a moment before forcing herself to get her clothing. She brushed her wet hair quickly in the mirror, and began to feel more optimistic about finishing her workload before the end of her shift.

Her knickers had been ruined by the coffee she'd dumped on her lap during her nighttime "lunch" period. She'd tossed them in the bin before her shower and crammed her now-stained trousers into the locker.

 _At least I don't have to spend the shift smelling like old milk_ , she told herself cheerfully. There were nice perks that went along with working in a hospital.

Clutching the ends of the towel together at her chest, she reached in to pull out her spare scrubs. She turned around to drop them on the bench, and nearly screamed.

Sherlock stood there silently, watching her fumble with the armful of clothes and the towel wrapped around her still-damp body. His eyes moved over her, seeing, taking her apart as he always did. She stood beneath his scrutiny, knowing he probably saw signs of the coffee spill, her tiring day, her depressing meeting with her boss, and every other tiny detail that most people thought insignificant.

Molly squirmed. "I'm not the only person who uses this room, Sherlock. What are you doing in here? You can't be, it's against the rules."

"Oh is it?" He feigned genuine surprise, followed with the smirk she knew well. He looked around, and shrugged. "According to the sign on the door, this area is closed for renovations, for the foreseeable future."

Molly set the scrubs down on the bench, and crossed her arms over her chest, holding the towel in place. Drops of water fell from the strands of her hair down her skin. A slow smile bloomed on her face. "Oh, is it closed? I hadn't noticed. How silly of me."

"Yes, very silly." He dropped his jacket on the bench and crossed to the other side, to standing in front of Molly in the narrow space. She was abruptly crowded against the lockers, the cold metal surface sending goosebumps over her arms. She gazed up into his face, her brown eyes questioning.

Sherlock uncrossed her arms, his fingers wrapped around her delicate wrists. He lifted her hands high, pressed them together against the lockers, and held them tight there with one hand. The other dropped to yank the towel down and away from her body.

Molly swallowed and her voice was low and husky when she managed to speak.

"What do you need?"

One side of his mouth curved upward while his eyes wandered over her breasts and belly. He trailed his fingertips down the valley between her small breasts and splayed his hands over the softness of her abdomen.

"I'm thinking _pancreas_ today."

* * *

The arrangement was born when, in a fit of exasperation, Molly demanded a kiss in exchange for the fresh hand he needed to test post-mortem fingerprint deterioration. No one had been more shocked than her when he accepted her half-joking offer and captured her lips with his in a hard, searing kiss. She'd still been staring at him, mouth dropped open and cheeks flushed, when he collected the hand and strolled out of the morgue. She could barely make out the smug smile that touched his lips as he let the door slam behind him.

It escalated quickly from there, with no discussion and no change in his behavior except for the touching. The next week there was a storage-room snog for a bagful of toes. The week after that, he massaged her lower back and nibbled on her neck until Molly was amenable to handing over a kidney.

It was almost a month later when he grabbed her arm and led her from the morgue to a loo shut for repairs. He pressed her against the wall and brought her off with his long clever fingers, his hand thrust roughly down her trousers into her knickers. She'd collapsed against the tiled wall, shuddering while he held her up and kissed her. He went home with an entire liver that time.

At first, Molly didn't understand the rules of the game they were playing. It seemed somewhat unnecessary. She'd always been happy to assist him in his unusual experiments, and Sherlock's attentions only made her quicker to respond. Mike had told her unofficially that some government higher-up had approved significant access for Sherlock. The only catch was that the consulting detective not be told of the _carte blanche_ he'd been given in non-emergency or critical hospital areas. She cringed to imagine how Sherlock would behave if he really knew how much freedom he had. It was a secret Molly was immensely proud of keeping from him.

One afternoon, two months into their unspoken arrangement, he texted her to meet him upstairs in an empty patient room. She'd taken two steps into the dim room when she felt his hands on her, pushing off her lab coat and tugging at her shirt.

"What do you need today?" she gasped, as his deft fingers teased her nipples under her top. He didn't answer, but instead pulled her shirt over her head impatiently. The lights stayed off while he guided her onto the bed and stripped off her shoes, trousers, and knickers. She smothered her moans with the back of her forearm when he hooked her leg over his shoulder and began flicking his tongue over her clit.

When they snuck back to the morgue, she waved him toward the cold storage freezer, and sat at the steel counter, watching him dreamily while Sherlock went parts shopping.

On his way out the door, he pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. She was so surprised, she didn't notice until ten minutes later that her knickers had vanished somewhere in the re-dressing process.

There were days when she wanted more, but he rebuffed her attempts to ask him out for coffee and casual lunches in the canteen. When John Watson became his assistant and joined him on trips to the morgue, there was less privacy and for two months after the blogger joined the team, Molly was never alone in the morgue with Sherlock.

She'd begun to think that he was tired of their arrangement and would going back to annoying her into submission, when he strolled into the ladies' locker room as if he had every right.

* * *

His hand gripped her wrists tight against the lockers, but Molly didn't fight it when his mouth attacked her neck, his teeth nipping at her while his tongue tickled her sensitive throat. Their storage room fumbling had taught him how she would shiver when her neck was kissed and her nipples rolled between his fingertips simultaneously. He kissed his way over her jaw to take her mouth finally, and her arms strained as she leaned into him. He let go of her wrists and settled his hands firmly on her arse, dragging her tight against the hardness in his trousers.

She broke the kiss to blurt out, "I thought you didn't want to anymore. You haven't been here. Not that I'm not glad you're here now, but it's odd never knowing…when." She laughed self-consciously and looked away from his piercing eyes. "Would be nice to make certain my legs are shaved sometimes."

"Your legs are freshly shaved now," he remarked, dropping to his knees. "Not that I care." He licked away a drop of water high on her inner thigh and nuzzled at the cluster of curls above it. Molly sighed, and opened her legs wider for him.

"Yes, well, I didn't feel like getting out of the shower and I had a razor here… _oh Sherlock_ ," she groaned. His tongue slipped into the folds between her legs, unerringly finding the bundle of nerves and teasing it lightly with his fingertip and lips. Molly gave up on the attempt at having an adult conversation, and lifted her leg, planting her foot on the bench behind Sherlock.

He murmured approvingly against her flesh, and braced her thigh with his hand to bury his tongue deeper into her wetness. Molly bit her lip to smother an inappropriate giggle ( _god_ _the locker room of all the nasty places,_ she laughed inwardly) but dug her hands into his curls. She rocked hard against his face, letting her eyes close to lose herself in the sensations he wrung from her pussy. After a few minutes, she couldn't balance herself anymore with her legs turned to jelly. She threw her hands back to brace her body against the lockers, and she saw Sherlock's bright eyes peer up at her with a wicked gleam.

 _Is that why he won't let me reciprocate?_ she wondered. _Is this his form of pleasure- bringing me off but only when it's on his terms? I know he's hard every time…_

She felt the climax coming then, the shivering and tensing low in her belly with every precise wiggle and stroke of his tongue. His fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave marks, but she loved the little brands he left on her skin in every interlude.

It was monstrously difficult to pull his head away from her sex before she came.

He looked up, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "You haven't had an orgasm. Your heart rate, vasocongestion, the neuromuscular tension and-"

"No, I know. I just, I want to come _with_ you."

Sherlock sat back on his heels. His throat moved as he swallowed, and she saw his jaw tense. "I didn't think that was the expectation. If this is unsatisfactory-"

"Oh, no it's great. I..." Molly dropped to her knees, her belly muscles still tight with the thwarted climax. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes stayed open and alert. "I want to make you come. I want to give that to you. Please."

She reached for his buttons, and made quick work of them. She neatly set aside the expensive shirt, and pulled herself up to sit on the bench. She gestured for Sherlock to stand, and he complied, his expression open and curious now.

"Just wondering…not that it matters, Sherlock, but who taught you to um perform oral sex on a woman? I never hear about girlfriends or anything."

"John."

"What?"

Sherlock gave her a look as though the answer were obvious. "His laptop is a library of downloaded sexual acts. I studied them. Anatomy and stimulation are simple concepts. Google helped." His eyes moved over her body again. "What do you need, Molly?"

"For starters," she said with a grin, "Could you take your trousers off?"

* * *

With his clothing tossed aside, Molly took full stock of Sherlock's nude form and swore at herself for not pushing the issue all those months ago. He was toned and lovely and she wanted to have him on the floor then and there. Instead she laid a towel over the bench, and he sat on it.

Molly crawled between his knees, and curled her fist around his semi-hard cock. She thumbed over the velvet tip of him, and dipped her mouth to lick the drop of precum beading there. He exhaled loudly and he grew thicker in her palm.

"Were you this hard, this ready, the other times?" Molly asked playfully, sucking the whole head of his cock inside her mouth, letting it roll over her tongue until he was fully hard and straining.

"Take care of it," he said, his voice almost casual. She looked up, and saw his eyes blazing down at her. His nostrils flared as she slid him deeper into her throat, letting herself nearly gag before drawing him out, and then back in again.

"Do you think of me? About coming with me?" Molly could barely believe she'd found the courage to ask.

Sherlock pressed the back of her head until her lips were touching his cock again. She obliged him happily and worked his shaft with her hand while bobbing on him.

"Sometimes." The word was spat out between gritted teeth. "Yes. You. On you. In you."

Molly felt the tightening of his balls against her fingers. She slid one hand down to cradle them carefully and tickled the sensitive skin there. His face twisted beautifully and she thought for a moment the sensory overload might make him come immediately. His face relaxed and his eyes closed as she caressed and played with him. Slowly, gently, almost a torment, never quite enough pressure for him to pop.

"That's what I want. Come in me, Sherlock."

His eyes snapped open.

"I've got a birth control implant, and I had my annual tests a few months ago. No one since then but what we've done…All clear," Molly added. "Have you?"

"Yes. Tested negative to all. Get up."

"Alright." She placed her hands on his thighs and pulled herself to standing, hovering over him with her hands on his shoulders. "Now what?"

He stood and stroked his cock, his eyes on her determined. Molly backed up until she felt the cold press of the lockers against her heated skin. Sherlock advanced on her until his chest mashed against her body. He braced himself with one hand placed above her shoulder, and hoisted her right thigh up with the other hand. Molly reached between them and nudged the thick head of his cock against her entrance. She slid her fingers through his dark curls and met his eyes and nodded.

He lifted her leg up higher, and plunged inside her, stretching her with the force of his thrust. Molly gasped and shifted her hips to adjust to his girth. He felt the muscles of her thigh relax, and he began to move again. The metallic ridges of the locker scratched against her back but she didn't give a damn. Sherlock shoved into her harder and harder, their skin slapping together and her leg muscles aching from the stretch. Needing more pressure, Molly dragged her nails down his neck and over his nipples before digging in to get his attention.

"Harder, I need you to fuck me harder," she pleaded. Sherlock didn't miss the building tension in her belly and legs, and the tightening of her nipples. He grabbed hold on her other leg and wrapped them both around his waist. He leaned her back into the lockers, and rode her ruthlessly.

The shivers returned and Molly felt the rising rippling in her belly. She encouraged the sensation, rocking against Sherlock while he fucked her and latched his mouth onto her neck. With a rapid string of thrusts, a wail tore from her throat, rougher and higher than the pleasant mellow cries he'd induced in her before. Sherlock laid his teeth into her neck, sucking a dark mark into her skin while he pumped rhythmically until his own orgasm came almost as a surprise, rushing from him into Molly with a last desperate push.

He shook with the force of it, and Molly squeezed him tight, her legs sliding down from his waist as his tremors slowed. He licked his lips, breathing hard against her.

He stroked her shoulders and breasts meditatively. When he lifted his head, she could actually _see_ the mindless thrall of sex leaving his brain, and the speeding sharpness of Sherlock returning.

"That was," he said.

"Yes, it was," Molly agreed with a proud smile. "I think we need another shower, before I get back to work."

* * *

Sherlock toweled off in such a methodical manner that he was dried and dressed with a minute of finishing the shower. The shower wasn't as efficient, since it mostly consisted of him soaping her breasts, curious about the foaming properties around them.

He donned his jacket and looked at his mobile. He fired off a reply to a text. She presumed it was not for a case he was taking, as scorn was plastered over his face.

"My brother," he explained when she asked. "He works for- no, he _is_ the British government. He never texts though. Must be his PA sending the message on his behalf."

She distantly remembered Mike's words about some government higher-up arranging access for Sherlock.

"Your brother? He's the government official who got you-" She paused and bit her lip. She turned away and started pulling on her clean scrubs.

"Got me the open access to Barts' facilities? Yes, him."

Molly spun around. "You knew about that? That you could have…I don't understand."

His angular face was inscrutable. Something faint flickered in his icy blue eyes. He smiled, and tipped his head toward the door. "Back to work."

"Oh right. The pancreas! What sort of experiment is it for this time?"

Sherlock smiled and shrugged. "Don't know. I'll think of something."


End file.
